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MARGO HAD REQUESTED a return to Aelurus, to help facilitate territory discussions between the Cloudians and the evacuating Shadlings. Her request was granted, though she was to return to the Evernight within a moon, to enshrine the Hollows in magick, keeping it intact while the Dusk Stag was freed.  

She'd worked herself tirelessly from moon up to moon down, busying herself with delegation between the two races, and her ambassador duties with the Aelurians. During all that time, Lucy was like a second shadow, sitting in on her meetings, visiting the various settlements across the sands. He ate with her, breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and requested she join him on his balcony three nights a week. And every moment they were together, he repeatedly begged her not to go through with the plan. To preserve her magick and save herself - the Eridan, and all magick be damned. 

Every time he asked, she replied the same, her mind was made up.

The night before she was to return to the Evernight, she sat beneath Aelurus's waning stars, their light diminished as the sky lightened and dawn loomed on the horizon. Her breaths frosted before her and her skin prickled with cold, but she remained unwilling to move from her balcony, refusing to give in to her body's exhaust and rest. 

This would be the last time she ever glimpsed the sun rise, and though the sight caused the Shadlings to panic, and the Aelurians slept away the time when their sun showed itself, the sight brought Margo peace. Aelurus's darkness, its sharpness, and coldness was still foreign -- as were its cities tucked away in the branches of great trees, and its poisonous ocean, and callous distinction between Moonborns and empty bloods -- but a sunrise, no matter where it was, always reminded her of home. 

Back on the Cloudian home realm, she had watched the twin suns rise from behind the mountains and mount the sky. The Elders said the suns were sisters, and great Cloudian warriors, who brandished arms against the looming dark. They alone had protected the Cloudian homeworld, and for their bravery, they were turned into suns, to burn forever bright. 

When their realm had been destroyed, and the Cloudians created a new home beneath the Aelurian desert, the elders had created machines to recreate the suns. The Sisters took their place amongst a rock sky, their light catching in craters and cracks. It was a new sunrise, for those who had survived the cataclysm, but it soon became a marker of home. 

The Sisters were always protecting the Cloudians, ensuring they bore witness to a new day. One where they could be better, do better, than the day before. 

Once Margo saw the sun rise, she would get up, she would head to the Hollows, and she would be better than she was the day before, she would do better than she had the day before. 

The Dusk Stag returned. The realms given more time to save all magick. No more death. 

Without thinking, she reached a hand up to her throat, her fingers groping for the necklace, and the stone that kept track of her lifeforce. But she had taken it off and left it on her bed. It could be thrown away when she was gone, or Lucy could keep it - should he desire something to remember her by. It was a worthless stone, one that Hestor had given her the day her whiskers had finally grown in. While wearing it, she'd pledged to do great things with magick, and restore the Cloudian's faith in the good it could do. 

The stone was just a stone, but in a way, it represented who Margo was better than anything else. All her stubbornness, her determination, her desire to be a third sun for her people and mount the sky, burning brightly. All of it stuffed inside a stone no bigger than a fig, no different than any ordinary river rock. But it was her, in a nutshell, because Margo was just Margo. 

She returned her hand to the ground, cold seeping into her fingers. Above her the stars, continued to wink and twinkle, the crescent moon a mocking reminder of the cost of Aelurian freedom. Hestor would have liked this sky, she thought. He would have wanted a star for himself, and she would have used all her magick to gift him one as thanks for being her friend. For being her family. For choosing to follow her, and serving the Dawn Queen, even though he hadn't been trained as a soldier, or in the ways of magick, but he'd done so, so she wouldn't have had to fight alone. And he'd died because of it. Because of her.

"I failed, huh?" Margo bit down on her lip, to keep Hestor's name from bubbling between her lips. To get you a star. To protect you. "I'll regret it, even after I'm gone." 

"You're quick to discard your life."

Margo was unsurprised when Calleighdia appeared on her right though her stealth was impressive. The old mage had been on the verge of death and yet she remained light on her feet, as any healthy Aelurian would be. 

"You'd make a good spy."

The former Archmage rested against the railing, her claws digging into the metal.

"Sharpening them for your enemies?"

"Brute force lacks finesse, thought. I prefer more calculated methods to destroy my enemies."

"Right." Margo sighed, keeping her attention straight ahead. 

Magick pulsed beneath her nails, and unfurled its cold beneath her skin. She felt the dull rattle of it in her ears, and frowned. Dying magick, no matter where in the realms she was, always felt the same. 

"You haven't answered me." 

Margo frowned. "Sorry, wasn't really listening to what you said. I have a lot on my mind." 

Calleighdia turned around, resting her back against the railing. The sleeves of her robe fell to her elbows, the winding green marks of the Un, bright and vicious in Aelurus's dark. "Why is it you wish to die?"

Margo jerked her head up. Usually a question like that would come with some mocking tone, or a spitefulness in Calleighdia's eyes, but the former Archmage, was sullen, shoulders slouched, tail hanging like a limp, damp rag.

She faced the horizon, fingers coiling around the railing, nails digging into the metal. "I don't wish to die. I just–"

"Everyone I have ever loved has died, yet you," Calleighdia's gaze slid over Margo, her mouth tilted, a black fang peeking between her lips, "you still have people you love. And you would leave them mourning."

Margo dragged her nails, flecks of metal falling to the ground. In the garden below, the Aelurian's tribute to their heroic king, Sebastian Dinn' Aelurus, stood proud and straight-backed, sword in claw, ready to face off against the enemy. He had been carved too severely, and depicted too noble and dignified. There wasn't a single strand of fur out of place, or some unfortunate beetle or unlucky mouse caught beneath his paw. He wore no ribbon around his neck, a symbol of his undying love for the girl he cherished. 

What had Margo earned for her loyalty, her years spent in service? Would she get a statue, carved by a stranger, depicting an ideal, rather than the Cloudian she was? Would people talk about her bravery and sacrifice instead of her love of cheese and total disdain for the obviously inferior Aelurian whisker?

A breeze swept through the trees, rippling the smooth surface of the pool beneath Sebbi's feet. 

"The Hollows needs protecting," she said, finally. "It's a sacrifice I--" 

She stopped, and gave a derisive laugh instead. Even she could hear the lack of conviction in her words. 

"Sacrifices are for the selfish."

"Excuse me?"

Calleighdia turned, the sleeves of her robes lifting in the wind. Her markings burned a horrid green and writhed on her arms. "The first life I took was my sister's." Margo's eyes widened. "She had already died, froze to death, and I was on the verge also, and that's when I heard magick's call. I listened, and stole my sister's soul, in order to sustain my own. I denied her passage into the y'mestria, denied her access to her ancestors, and a peaceful afterlife. And when my other sister fell ill, her body was not even cold, before I did the same. The mages of the Un were impressed by my strength, so few choose blood magick, and even the ones who dipped their claws into the practice, refused to use it on family. But I had, I had indulged the taboo, and lived, unburdened by guilt. I sacrificed hundreds of lives to save myself, to secure my good standing with Gravious. It has never been for some naive belief in the cause. When the flames died down, and the rivers of blood had dried up, and the drumbeats of the army had been silenced, I simply wanted to stand victorious."

"You're making me question why I brought you here."

"I am no longer unburdened. I live with the weight of my actions, pressing down upon my shoulders, and squeezing my chest, and chasing the breath from my lungs. I spend every waking moment suffocating under it all. But I live, Mouse-wizardess." Calleighdia swept her robes behind her, and settled onto the ground. "Now tell me, why it is you want to die?"

"I–" Margo's mouth pulled into a line. I have too, she had wanted to say, but she couldn't find it in herself to keep up the lie. "I don't know who I am without magick."

It had been all she had known - a Cloudian who, despite knowing her people's history, had chosen to walk a path reviled. Who had hid magick books beneath her bed, who had read them by candlelight, underneath her covers, who had alienated herself from her friends and peers. Who had given up a most beloved sister in her pursuit of power. So committed she had been to showing Cloudians magick wasn't their doom, that she had given up everything. Nights spent toiling away, sweating and exhausted, as the meagerest flame summoned by her will hovered over her palm. So many toads she had set free in the Sands, after failed attempts at magick.

Her servitude to the Dawn Queen, her risking her life, her losing Hestor was all in pursuit of changing Cloudian minds, of showing that magick wasn't inherently bad. If she could use the last of her life, to protect something, to help save something then– then maybe it wouldn't all have been for nothing. All she gave up, all she had lost would have meaning.

"You are a stupid creature." Calleighdia sighed, her fingers closing around the wrought iron bars. Rust fell into her lap, creating a pool of red. "And a talentless wizardess." She pointed at Margo's neck. "If you think all you are is measured by a measly stone, perhaps you deserve the end you so nobly seek."

Margo closed her mouth and swallowed.

"To find out who you are without magick, you must first live without magick, ratta." Her words were soft, though her gaze burned. She got to her feet, and outstretched her hand, claws retracted. "If you will choose it, I can ensure you will live and the Hollows are protected."

Margo's brow furrowed, her gaze darting between Calleighdia's hand and her face. "How?"

The former Archmage shook her head. "It's my turn to ask the questions. Do you refuse to die, Mouse Wizardess? Will you determine to learn a new way of living? Without magick? Will you fight for the ones lost, and the ones who remain? Will you survive, and honor them, Margoliesse Browntail, daughter of Clausen Browntail?"

Margo gaped. Browntail. When had been the last time she'd heard her true name uttered? For as long as she was ordered to remain in Exul, she was Margoliesse Fennick - a frumpy maid who couldn't tell the difference between the stew pot, and the laundry scrub bucket. 

Before that, she was only Margo, and that was to the handful closest to her, who needed to know her name - the Dawn Queen, the senior spymaster. Hestor, of course, knew her full name, but he always called her Liesse, the nickname she had back when they went to Heidmarr Academium together.

Margoliesse Browntail.

All Cloudians were said to have descended from mighty creatures with ears that could hear what transpired on the other side of the realm, and tails that allowed them to balance on even the slimmest, most precarious branch. The Cloudian's ears shrank, and they lost their ability to hear far and wide, though they never lost the desire to listen. Their tails fell off, and the fear of falling from high places took root in their hearts. 

A name like Browntail connected a Cloudian to their past, to their ancestors. They were anchors used to keep themselves moored, centered. So they never lost heart, so they never walked into the Sands and gave up. 

Margo was Margo. Stubborn. Determined. A connoisseur of the realms' finest cheeses. A whisker snob. A spy. A sister. A friend. A Browntail and the best damned wizardess the realms would ever know. 

She wouldn't go to the Sands willingly. She would have to be dragged there, kicking and screaming. Never giving up. 

She shot to her feet, her skin bathed in gold radiance. She breathed in the Aelurian air, fresh and hot, floral and spiced. She felt its magick, the strength at its core, its beating heart, alive and living for the time it had left. Staring into Calleighdia's face, she grinned.  "I'll have to ask you later about how exactly you came to know that name." She took the Archmage's hand, her short, scruffy fur scratching her skin. "I refuse to die. I will honor those who came before me, and I will live for those who come after me." 

Calleighdia grinned. It a was a grin without fang, bite or menace. If Margo squinted hard enough, it could have looked downright genuine. "So your kind can learn. Good." 

She took Margo's hand and turned it over. With one swift motion, she swiped her claw, breaking the flesh of Margo's palm. Margo, eyes bulging, winced and tried to wrench herself free. 

Confusion rocked her features. "Ca-Calleighdia? What are you doing?" 

The Archmage's old markings started glowing and the realm's magick enshrouded them both.

 Margo's breaths grew stifled, her curls limp. Saliva dried on her tongue and her throat felt ravaged by thirst. The blood seeping from Margo's wound, rose into the air. 

It floated in front of Calleighdia's face, and the old Aelurian opened her mouth, and drank. 

Horrified, Margo pulled away, but even weakened and near death, Calleighdia still had her Aelurian strength. 

With eyes glowing a harsh yellow, Calleighdia spoke a single word, her tongue stained from Margo's blood. "Sleep." 

And the mouse wizardess obeyed. Her eyes were closed long before she could properly be afraid.